Who was he kidding? He’d see it as more than it was. And it definitely wasn’t more than it was. He may as well have been spilling his guts to Steph on the couch that night, right?
The sensation of waking up with Riley in his arms returned.
He slammed on his brakes at the four-way stop, and his tires screeched to a halt. This time, the startled looks came from a group of kids wearing birthday party hats waiting to cross the street with Erin Petty, who gripped her son’s shoulder.
Mark raised his hand in apology. “Sorry,” he said and motioned them across.
He felt Erin’s glare through the windshield. He deserved that. Kind of refreshing that she gave it without any reserve.
One thing was certain. Spilling his guts to Riley that night on her couch was nothing like spilling his guts to his sister.
Another thing was certain. He had a whole lot of hours left to work on her house with her. It was better that he knew the boundaries. Better that he didn’t talk to Gus or Steph or his dad about whatever the town was saying. Better that he didn’t get pressured into doing stupid things because people thought their ideas were better than reality.
He’d just been dished a taste of reality.
Bitter as ever.
Riley rested her chin on her hand, looking blearily over the class outline for advanced art on her laptop. The seniors were allowed to choose their own projects, as long as they were working during class and making progress. But today her sixth-grade art class had asked how to paint snow, and that led to a demonstration of negative space, and now she was thinking of teaching the technique to her seniors, and she maybe had an idea for their final project.
She glanced at her phone.
She hadn’t heard from Mark since Sunday, and Thanksgiving was tomorrow. She forced her gaze back to the computer screen.
He’d been busy, she knew that. He’d finished mudding the new wall while she was at school and was gone before she got home. He’d installed the fire extinguisher next to the back door in the kitchen. He’d gotten her a quote for the electrical work. And he was helping his dad. Then there was the whole awkward Stephanie-Dalton-bathroom thing.
Dalton was giving her space, somewhat, but she still felt unsettled.
Truth be told, she wanted Mark’s opinion on paint color and to have him visit her classroom and to share a not-even-a-meal so she could tease him about milkshakes named after him. That reminded her that Thanksgiving was tomorrow and she hadn’t offered to bring any food.
She picked up her phone.
What can I bring for Thanksgiving? Anything but pie. Or a turkey. I’ve never cooked a turkey. Or stuffing.
Sorry I didn’t ask earlier.
Oh, or yams. I don’t know what to do with yams.
She set the phone down and watched it, waiting. She picked it back up.
I could probably find a recipe, though, if you really need someone to make yams.
She went to set it back down again when it beeped.
This is what we’ve got.
Turkey: check. Mashed potatoes and gravy: check. Stuffing: a big maybe—we’ll see how it goes. Pumpkin pie: check. Yams: SKIP. We’ve got corn and rolls. What do you want to add?
She bit her lip, thinking.
I have a good cranberry sauce recipe. Green beans? I can make apple crisp. That’s like pie.
Sounds great. Dad says thanks.
She smiled. I’ll bring whipped cream, too. The real kind, not the stuff in a tub.
Perfect. Come around 2:00. See you tomorrow.
She stared at the last text, wondering why it felt like a dismissal.
She made a shopping list and closed her office, wishing she knew more about holiday cooking. As she passed her display board of starry nights, she knew one thing.
She missed Mark.
In the hallway she heard her name called, and she turned with a smile. “Hey, Yvette.”
“Hey, yourself.” Yvette pulled her into a hug. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”
“Bleh” was what managed to spill eloquently from her mouth.
Yvette chuckled and stepped back to study her. “You’re figuring stuff out?”
“You mean about Dalton being a shallow letch and Mark being a completely decent human being?” She nodded.
“Oh, sweetie, he’s much more than decent.”
Riley pursed her lips, hiding a smile. “I know. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
Yvette threaded her arm through Riley’s and started walking. “That’s fine. I’ll be able to see all I need tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’m joining you and the Rivers men for Thanksgiving. You didn’t know?”
“No. I haven’t seen much of Mark the last few days.”
“Cal saw me in the IGA the other day, and we got to talking, and when he learned that my plans to see my sister had fallen through, he invited me.”
“I’m glad. I’m sorry your plans fell through, but I’ve been worried about what kind of conversation I’d be up to with just the three of us.”
“Well, my youngest son will be at his dad’s, and my sister has a couple kids down with strep throat.” She sighed. “And no need to worry about conversation. Cal’s a great talker, and the way those two men banter is enough entertainment for anybody.”
Riley smiled. “True.” They pushed the exterior door open, and Riley hunched deeper into her coat despite the midday sunshine. “I just don’t know where I stand with Mark, or what the town thinks. I don’t want to give people the wrong impression. I already know what some of them believe.”
“Who cares what the town thinks?”
Riley did. A lot.
It must’ve shown. Yvette shook her head. “Okay, maybe that’s easy to say. I know my divorce was the subject of enough scrutiny. That sucked.”
“I think you just made my point.”
Yvette laughed. “I think I did.” She stopped and faced Riley. “Only you can judge what really matters. Everything else is just talk.”
Riley nodded.
